Byrd Man

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Oh yeah? Watch this:

I'm not going to get a post up tomorrow.

@AndyC

Getting it up is a problem as men get older. I admire your bravery, Andy, in speaking your truth.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Bushwick
Brooklyn

11:23 AM

“That fucking meeting was a disaster, Matty. I think we got a fucking rat.”

The disgusting sound of Joey eating pasta was enough to make me happy I was blind. I imagined the sight was just as horrible as the sound. The place was practically deserted even though it was approaching the lunchtime rush. Joey or one of the guys in his crew was probably a silent partner in the business and were able to clear it out with a snap of their finger. That explained why the only people in the restaurant with us were Joey’s two goons watching both me and the towering one-man wrecking crew that was my own personal bodyguard and driver, Melvin Potter.

Once upon a time Melvin had been an up and coming boxer. He was just a teenager when he started to learn at the feet of a past his prime palooka named Jack Murdock. His boxing career got derailed when he accidentally crippled an opponent. He transitioned to mixed martial arts back in the days when the sport was little more than human cockfighting and just as corrupt as any boxing match. He was on the path to washing out of fighting and becoming a mob legbreaker when I stepped in and offered him a job. Now he doesn’t have to break legs for a living. These days it’s just for fun.

“What do you mean?" I asked Joey. "Did the cops raid you?”

“I mean that fucking finocchio with the horns showed up. He tore through us like we were goddamn toilet paper. Cops came afterwards. Me and Paulie and our guys got away, but I heard Blackwood got two of his bikers nabbed on gun charges. This Devil motherfucker fucked up two of my guys, three of the bikers, and even me. You can’t see what my face looks like but it’s bad.”

I knew firsthand how bad Joey’s fast was. Last night I drove my left elbow into his cheek with a force so hard it knocked him flat on his ass. I thought at the time I’d broken his orbital bone, but I guess not. I could tell from the way he moved he was wearing sunglasses, so everything north of the nose must have been one giant bruise he was hiding. I didn’t smile like I wanted to.

“This is the third time he’s involved himself in the crime world,” I said.

“Yeah word on the street is the cocksucker took over the drug trade in Washington Heights and Harlem.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Over the previous six months I had managed to dismantle both Turk Barrett’s criminal empire north of 110th Street and the Puerto Rican Army, a street gang that ran the projects in Washington Heights. It wasn’t true that The Devil had taken over their operations, but there was a power in letting the lie play out on its own. It established my alter-ego as more than just some costumed crime fighter. He was a crook in his own right, something far more feared than a vigilante. Layers, inside of layers, inside of layers.

“And you think someone tipped him off to the meeting?” I asked.

“How else would he show up?” Joey Bags thrusted a fat fist forward and gestured with his fork. I felt small spatters of tomato sauce hit the lapels of my tailored designer suit. “The only people knew about the meet was me, Paulie, the Don himself, and Blackwood and his fucking rednecks.”

“Well, if you think the leak didn’t come from you, it had to be Blackwood or one of his people.”

I was quick to shift blame to the bikers. The fact I wasn’t on Joey’s list of people meant the old man hadn’t told Joey or Paulie about our little consultation the day before. The fork clattered on Joey’s empty plate and he stretched back in his chair. I could hear the pasta already churning in his stomach, a sound that made me rapidly lose desire for my own lunch.

“Those fucking cranked up hillbillies,” he spat. “We ought march into Queens and wipe ‘em off the fucking map.”

“A gang war over mere speculation isn’t very smart,” I said. “Especially since the Crusaders pack military surplus hardware. Just do the obvious thing, Joey, and tell Blackwood you’re putting your deal on ice for the time being. He'll probably be quick to agree and put distance between you and him. If you’re having these thoughts, can you imagine what he’s thinking about you?”

Joey sucked his teeth and thought my idea over. Joey was the smartest guy inside the Campisi Crime Family. That wasn’t much of a complement in the grand scheme of things, but I knew Paulie didn’t wipe his ass without first consulting Joey Bags’ opinion on the matter. The quickest way to sideline this drug trafficking scheme was to spook Joey to the point of him telling Paulie to kill it.

“That might be best,” he finally conceded. “I’ll talk to Paulie and firmly suggest that it’s the best move to make some distance from ourselves and Blackwood for the time being. He'll see the light.”

“Speaking of,” I said as I stood and grabbed my walking stick. “If Blackwood had men arrested he'll probably want me to defend them.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Joey said with a laugh. “Pass the news on to Blackwood for me, will you? Always a pleasure, Matty.”

I nodded without saying another word and started to make my way towards the exit. Melvin came to my side and led the way. He’d been with me long enough to not take my arm and try to guide me like most would. He knew exactly what I was capable of. I thought about Joey's warm farewell. While Paulie was indifferent towards me at best, Joey Bags and I were always on good terms. That boded well for the future. With Angelo's advanced age it meant very soon there would be a day when Paulie was boss and my access would be far diminished. Guys like Joey would help me with that information pipeline to continue my real mission.

Melvin opened the door to the restaurant for me and I stepped out onto the sidewalk and came to a stop. Even over the continuous cornucopia of noise that was New York City, I heard something familiar from down the block. It was a heartbeat I hadn’t heard in a long time. A very long time. Then came the screeching tires down the block. Melvin stepped in front of me as the car skidded to a stop in front of us. He began to go for the gun tucked into the small of his back but I put my hand against his arm.

"It's the law," I whispered to him. "Keep your gun well hidden."

“Mr. Murdock,” a calm voice said as a man stepped out of the car. “Special Agent Wambaugh, FBI.”

I heard him pull his badge out to flash… right in the face of a blind man. Typical FBI.

“Melvin?” I asked with the tilt of my head.

“Yeah, it’s a legit badge. Heh, says his first name is Gayle. Isn't that a girls name?”

“I need you to come with me,” Wambaugh said as he coughed. I could feel the air temperature change around Wambaugh's face as it flushed in embarrassment. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

“But I already know your boss," I said before turning to Melvin. “Just wait in he car. I’ll be back in about a half hour.”

I climbed into the back of the unmarked FBI car and sat right next to the man in the backseat. I knew him better than I knew anyone else in this world. He was my oldest friend. The man who I spent almost every waking moment of college and law school with. And these days he was the man who now spent his days actively seeking to bring down me and every client in my contacts.

“Mr. Murdock,” said Foggy Nelson. “You got some sauce on your jacket. That's a nice suit. Looks like it’ll be an expensive stain.”

“Thank you, Foggy,” I said. I placed a gentle hand on his arm. "And from the feel of things you're still buying off the rack. Jos A. Bank still doing the deal where if you buy one suit, you get sixteen for free?"

“Let’s keep this formal please,” he said tightly.

“Very well then," I said with a slight smirk and a bow of my head. "So, Assistant United States Attorney Franklin Nelson... how can I help you?”

---

Williamsburg
Brooklyn

2:15 PM

Yussel Goren had never seen so much blood in his life. It seemed to coat the floor and walls of the small Brooklyn apartment. It covered his hands and arms. The thighs of his navy blue pants were a deep crimson now due to the blood. Neta was face down in the carpet. Her blood pooled out from the spot where she had fallen and it was oozing out through the rest of the room.

Yussel stumbled forward. He took his yarmulke off with his blood-stained hands and stuttered out some words in Yiddish. He fell to his knees and began to weep. His free hand found a bloody knife buried in the carpet. He held it up and looked at it just as the door to the apartment burst open.

"NYPD," the heavyset uniformed officer said. He pulled his gun out and aimed it at the weeping Yussel. "Drop the weapon!"

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Midtown

11:45 AM

"'If Justice personified is blind, then Injustice personified most certainly is. That personification is a blind man. This blind man sits by the phone day and night in a darkened room. He waits for the call from some of the city's most dangerous and corrupt individuals. He talks about the lofty ideals and notions of justice in the courtroom, but one look at the last name on his client's list -- Campisi, Manfredi, De La Rosa, Blackwood -- and you know that Matt Murdock's talk is just that.' It goes on and on like that for another two pages. Bunch of talk about the mistrial with De La Rosa, then the stuff about the Crusaders... and then a last saying you should be disbarred."

"So, usual Daily Bugle boilerplate," I said to Karen. "Remind me to sue them for libel when I get the chance."

"Yes, sir."

That paper has attacked me so much over the past year that I could barely notice Karen's pulse rise anymore when she reads their editorials. They're not the only place that likes to attack me. Papers, websites, TV stations, social media, even other lawyers and politicians all have an anti-Murdock stance of some sort... at least, the politicians and media organizations not in the pockets of my clients.

"That's all, Karen. You can go."

Karen Page, a paralegal and my only staff member, quickly and quietly left the room while I leaned back in my chair. Karen was the gatekeeper when it came to any time with me. I only worked by referral, my card nothing but a phone number. That phone number rang here to Karen's desk. From there she would do the Murdock test: Either you had enough cash to cover my fees or your case was unique enough to grant me exposure. If you didn't have one of those two things, then Karen would refer to her rolodex full of other lawyers happy to take the case. If you did pass that test then she passed you along to me and we would have a meeting either at my office or at whatever lockup you happened to find yourself in. Hopefully said meeting would be in my office if only for the scenery.

My office sits on the fortieth floor of an impressive Midtown skyscraper. They say it has one hell of a view of Lower Manhattan. Guess I'll take their word for it. The rent alone for this office would bankrupt most law firms. Someone once asked why I paid so much for the space when I could have gotten another one on the same floor without a view for a hundred thousand dollars cheaper. I didn't dignify them with a response. In this business, what I do on the books and off of them, you show strength by your decisions. A blind man wasting a hundred grand on a view he'll never see is part of my strength. It's part of my power. I bought the office because I could.

"Phone call for you," Karen's voice chirped out of the speaker on my desk. "It's... Uncle Angelo..."

---

Syosset, New York

6 PM

"Matt, my boy," Don Campisi said cheerfully.

His old and withered hands felt like sandpaper scrapping against the skin of my hands. He patted the back of my hand and put the other hand on my elbow to guide me across the lawn. He thought of it as a favor. The truth was I could get around the yard better than he could. I've never laid eyes on the man but I can describe the old mob boss perfectly. Short, squat, with wisps of white hair on his pale scalp. Large eyeglasses so thick his eyes look alien. To the world at large Angelo Campisi looks like a doddering old grandfather. To think that's what he is would be to sorely underestimate the man.

"I'm so glad you made it out," he said once we were both sitting in lawn chairs. "I know it's a hell of a drive out of the city, especially for you."

"Well, I didn't hear any moaning under the car when I stopped, so I guess I did alright."

"If you hit 'em just right, you won't hear any moaning at all!"

Campisi laughed at his own joke before moving on to small talk. He had to tell me all about his kids that I didn't care about. I nodded at the right times and said the right things. One of Campisi's men came out and dropped off two impossibly strong coffees. Just the smell of it gave me the jitters. Campisi picked one up with shaking hands and took a long sip. After that he finally got down to it.

"I want you advice on something, Matty. You know Joey Bags? Works with that crew out in Long Island Ciy? He and Paulie came to me a few nights ago with an idea on a score. Those fucking biker pricks you repped last year, what were they?"

"The Crusaders."

Officially, the Crusaders Motorcycle Club is simply a group of motorcycle enthusiast. In reality they are the worst of the outlaw motorcycle gangs in America. They run guns, drugs, whores, and create general mayhem and destruction everywhere they go. They are also without a doubt my most reliable clients.

"They got a club over in Bensonhurst," said Campisi. "Joey Bags and Paulie are gonna have a sit down with them tonight. They want to use these Cruasder fucks to mule coke and dope across the country. They're always going on these cross country rides to Piss-ant, Florida or somewheres out in California. They don't go on the interstate and they can make drops and deliveries to our people in Miami, Kansas City, or wherever. Instead of a fucking pick-up truck carrying two hundred pounds, fifty bikers carrying six pounds a piece make drops over the course of a week. "

My mob lawyer hat was on. I needed to play through the motions to get what I wanted at the end.

"Could be risk involved. One of these bikers could try to rip you off, get a wild hair up his ass and decide to take off for parts unknown while stealing from you and his club."

"He does that he's dead," Campisi said coolly. "And not just by our people. His own people. Those biker fucks, they don't play around if you betray them."

I knew that all too well. I represented their president on a murder charge last year. One of their members was talking to the ATF. He suddenly had an accident that cut his tongue out, or at least that's what I made the jury believe.

"I think it'll work," I said with a nod. "What's your exposure?"

Campisi shrugged and took another sip from his coffee. "Paulie and Joey are meeting with the top guys and that's it. If the rank and file get pinched and want to flip they'll rat out the guys in their club and they will stand tall. No way it gets back to them or me."

"I'm just hurt and offended I wasn't consulted on this. Blackwood is my client, after all."

Campisi put his dried up hand on the back of my hand. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. "It's Paulie's show, you know how he is with you. Thinks cause you're a mick you can't be trusted."

I didn't say it, but I thought that maybe Paulie was on to something. Maybe he was the only member of the Campisi Family with a bit of sense.

---

St. Patrick's Cathedral
Manhattan

11:20 PM

I had twenty grand in my jacket pocket when I went in St. Patrick's. The twenty grand was partially my cut on the forthcoming deal with the Crusaders, as well as my retainer for doing the don's legal work. Going into churches always made me think about my mother. Maggie Murdock was like a ghost. She left New York in the mid-90's and never looked back. I had no idea where she was or where she had been. I often wondered what she was doing if she were still alive. I thought many times over the years about hiring a PI to track her down. In the end I never found the strength to pull the trigger. I'm not sure what terrorizes me more: the fact that she may be dead, or the fact that she may be alive.

The twenty grand in my jacket didn't feel that big. It was just two hundred one hundred dollar bills bundled into twenty neat thousand dollar packets. The cash felt light enough when I took it out of my jacket and stuck it in the poor box. They say all the good Catholics tithe ten percent. By that logic I had to be a great one. Before I left I asked a priest to light a candle for my mother. I knew why I never wanted to meet my mom. If I never found her she would always be that devout catholic woman I heard about over the years. She could never be corrupted like my dad was. She was frozen in time as a good woman. A good woman who would never have to witness what her son had become. I made a final prayer and prepared myself to go to work.

---

Long Island City
Queens

2:14 AM

"We don't fuck with drugs we don't make," Arthur Blackwood, president of the Crusaders Motorcycle Club, said with a scowl. "We're not errand boys. You want mules go to Washington Heights and get some project niggers. Why the hell should we stick out neck out for you? Because you say you'll pay?"

The two mobsters looked at each other as they leaned against the hood of the Cadillac. Paulie D'agistino, the underboss of the Campisi Crime Family, rubbed his chin while Joseph Baggato "Joey Bags" stuck his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged.

"That," Joey Bags started. "And, we both know your club is going under. The days of the outlaw biker gang ain't what they used to be. You're hurting for money. The ATF busts your balls day and night about that little weapons trafficking business you got. Fact of the matter is you need this. You're already making these fucking rides anyway, why not get paid while you're at it? Say yes."

Blackwood looked behind him, where three of his fellow bikers sat parked on their motorcycles in the back alley lot. Blackwood shuffled his feet and exhaled before finally nodding.

"Fine," he said.

Suddenly a sharp whistling noise filled the air. A spinning object flew from the shadows and decked a biker in the forehead. Paulie and Joey pulled pistols from their waistbands at almost the same time the Crusaders did. The two sides looked across the lot for any indication of who the thrower was.

"The hell was that?" Paulie asked, looking at Blackwood. "You trying to pull something on me?"

"Me? What about you?! You're a goddamn informant or something?!"

Out of the shadows a blur of motion slammed into Joey Bags and knocked him to the ground. Both sides opened fire in a torrent of fire and lead. Blackwood fell to the ground as bullets fired above him. The figure jumped away microseconds ahead of the shots. The figure swung back into the shadows and up onto the roof of the warehouse.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

D A R E D E V I L

---

^{_{M A T T H E W M U R D O C K ♦ L A W Y E R ♦ H E L L ' S K I T C H E N ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Ain't nobody born bad, it takes a whole lotta hurt.
Therein lies one of life's biggest lessons: ain't got nothin' to do with deserve.
Just pray to the Saint of Lost Causes."}

Matt Murdock is a "bad guy." A slightly twisted life has turned our blind lawyer into one of the city's best mob lawyers and a reviled figure in the criminal justice community of New York. Then at night, he becomes the Devil. The Devil is feared in the underworld as a violent criminal who is slowly climbing the ladder to become the city's kingpin.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Supporting Characters:

Karen Paige - Secretary and legal aid
Franklin "Foggy" Nelson - Assistant US Attorney
Dakota North - Investigator
Melvin Potter - Driver/bodyguard
Wilson Fisk - Kingpin
Silvermane - Crime lord and client
Arthur Blackwood - Outlaw biker and racist

Potential Arcs:

Casus Belli - A shaky alliance between the mob and the Crusaders MC is in tatters after a drug deal gone bad ends with dead men on both sides and a missing briefcase with a million dollars in it. While Matt Murdock tires to prevent a gang war between his clients, Daredevil tears up the city in search of the perpetrators of the attack and the missing money.

Hostis Humani Generis - A vigilante has come to the city, reigning down death and destruction to those in need of punishment. Among the killers targets is Matt Murdock, the city's number one criminal lawyer.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Sample

Manhattan Criminal Courthouse
Part 21
Lower Manhattan
11:21 AM

"Mr. Murdock, do you plan on a lengthy cross-examination of the witness?"

"No, Your Honor," I said as I stood. "I'll be brief."

I couldn't see it, but I could hear the muscles in Judge Sandra Young's face form into a smile. Noon was fast approaching and Judge Young likes her smoke breaks. I was honestly surprised that she had allowed the current session to run now for over three hours without breaking.

"You may proceed," she said.

I made my way from the defense table, passing by Assistant DA Blake Tower on my way towards the lectern facing the witness box and the jury. I heard Tower's right eyelid flip in a wink at me, a force of habit I assume. His gait was that of a man who was confident on the point of cocky. And who wouldn't be cocky after the testimony he had just withdrawn from his witness?

With Tower holding his hand, Detective Sergeant Michael Tork had just delivered an hour's worth of testimony that guided the jury through his investigation. Working out of the NYPD's 33rd Precinct, Tork and his four-man narcotics unit conducted a two month investigation into the suspected drug dealing activities of one Jesus Reuben Martinez, resident of Washington Heights and a known member of the Puerto Rican Army.

Jesus sat at the defense table, looking on while his heart raced a mile a minute. I could probably have smelled the sweat beading on his forehead from outside the court room it was so pungent. He had every reason to be worried. Tork's testimony was solid. He had explained in that clear and clipped cop-speak that his unit had observed Martinez in and around the Wilson Terrace Housing Projects where he lived, but they could never get concrete proof that he was dealing. He was careful on the street, conducting his business in the housing project where the cops couldn't go without arousing suspicion. Martinez would take the train somewhere downtown, but they always lost him in the shuffle of the commute. Close to packing up the case, they turned instead to the eye in the sky.

Jesus Mendez had the honor to be among the first targets of the NYPD's new drone surveillance program. The drone in question caught Jesus taking a re-up from a supplier and then meeting with the dealers who worked for him to move his product. Jesus had eluded police ground surveillance thanks to his keen observations. But he hadn't thought to look up into the sky.

"Thank you for taking the time to be here, Sergeant Tork," I said a I prepared for the cross.

"You're welcome," Tork said tightly.

A genuine hater. I figured the cop for one of those right off the bat. Now my suspicions were confirmed by the stand-offish answer and the increase in his pulse. A lot of cops make no effort to hide their contempt for defense attorneys. Instead of seeing what we do as a necessary check on the system, they instead see us as quasi-criminals who are just a few steps above the scumbag clients were represent. Not that he would be completely wrong in that assessment. But if he didn't hate defense lawyers now, he sure as hell was about to hate them after I was through with him.

"Sergeant Tork," I said with little to no delay. "Who operated the drone that took the surveillance photos of Mr. Martinez?"

"Officer Pierce," said Tork.

"And he's a member of your narcotics unit?"

"Yes, he is."

"I've been told that the photos you took are of good quality." I turned towards the jury with a half smirk. "I wouldn't know for myself."

I've found that self-deprecating humor can go a long way to disarm juries. Especially given my reputation over the years, playing up my blindness offsets my other less desirable qualities.

"They can clearly make out your client dealing drugs," Tork replied.

"Move to strike that from the record," I asked the judge. "It's inflammatory."

"So noted," said Judge Young. She looked down at Tork from her perch. "And I would remind Sergeant Tork to stick to simpler answers."

"Sergeant Tork, did you write the warrant that led to the use of the drone on my client?"

"No," said Tork. "We didn't have to write a warrant."

I smirked and squared my glasses up. Tork's heartbeat was steady, but starting to rise. He was telling the truth -- a refreshing departure from a lot of cops on the stand -- but he was beginning to get nervous. He knew something was up. With this cross, I was setting the fuse on the bomb that would destroy the prosecution's case.

"Drones and the use of them are relatively new in law enforcement, Sergeant. Are you up to date with all the rules and regulations?"

"I know how to do my job if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, so you know about the rules on surveillance distance with drones? They're much more restrictive with them than they are with planes and helicopters. If you're less than a thousand feet away from the target, you need a warrant. Anything without a warrant is considered an illegal search."

I held up the photographs, making sure they were the right side up and facing Tork.

"From how far would you say these photos were taken, Sergeant Tork?"

Now Tork's heart was racing. I could smell the sweat on him. Along with his change, I heard Tower groan under his breath from the prosecution table and Juror #4 laugh under his breath.

"I'm not an expert on distances," he said defensively.

"No, you're not," I said with a nod. "I'll have one of those come up when the defense presents. No more questions for Sergeant Tork, your honor."

And just like that, the seeds of acquittal have been sewn. Is Jesus Martinez guilty? Of course. The photos prove that. But they weren't obtained legally. That, more than anything, is my job. I have to make sure the cops play fair. I have to test the state's evidence and make sure it holds up. I am a necessary part of the threshing maw that is the American criminal justice system. I poke and prod and pull threads. Better that a guilty man go free on a technicality than an innocent man be convicted on faulty evidence.

At least, that's what I tell myself to make it through the day.

At night I cope a different way.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

B L A C K P A N T H E R
B L A C K P A N T H E R

Six Months Ago
Wakanda

Shuri stood on the top floor of the palace and looked down below as her country burned. Today marked the third day of violent rioting across the capital city of Birnin Zana. The military, royal constabulary, and even the Dora Milaje were all out in force to put down the riots and bring order back to Wakanda. It wasn’t working. The Kimoyo Beads on her wrist showed a real-time map of the chaos going on across the city and the rest of the country. So far there were plenty of injuries and hospitalizations on both sides. She was just thankful there were no deaths yet, but it was only a matter of time before that line was crossed. If that happened then the flames of unrest would be fanned into an open inferno of revolution.

“We have come to a decision,” a deep voice said behind her.

She didn’t turn to face her brother. She already knew what he would say. He loved Wakanda so much he would anything to keep it safe. Even at his won expense. Deep down she knew exactly what the king and tribal leaders had decided on. Shuri was on the verge of tears and she feared if she turned to look at him the dam would break.

“I… am abdicating the throne. You will take over as regent while you and the tribal leaders work with Achebe and his faction to create an actual constitution for the country. This will stop the violence for now. But the future of our country and family is unknown. It will be your place to write it. Not mine.”

Shuri felt the tears beginning to roll down her face. His large hands gently touched her shoulders. Together they watched the riots below in silence.

“This is like some nightmare,” she finally spoke. “Ever since that awful man Achebe came out of nowhere with his awful allegations against Utata–”

“There is something at work here, sister,” he said. “Something hidden and sinister. At this point is simply an intuition, something I cannot prove yet. Give me time and room to operate.”

“Are you leaving Wakanda?”

“I must,” he said softly. “Even with the Dora Milaje I am not safe here.”

“Where will you go?”

The silence told her that he had no intention of even hinting where he would go. It made sense, Shuri reasoned. The walls tended to have ears in the royal palace. The less people who knew his moves the better.

“I leave tonight. Take care of mother. I will return one day, sister. And I will reveal the truth and reclaim what is ours. I promise you that.”

“Safe travels,” she said. “My king.”

---

Red Hook, Brooklyn
Now

“We got a major motherfucking problem.”

Sampson Mitchell didn’t look up from the bowl of Fruity Pebbles he was making. As West Brooklyn’s foremost drug trafficker he was used to major motherfucking problems. Every day there was a new crisis or calamity that was the end of the world to these young boys. Sampson was pushing forty which was damn near ancient in the drug game. You didn't get there by being stupid and irrational. He’d seen it all and done it all. Nothing at this point could phase him.

“What’s the problem?” Sampson said after adding milk to his cereal. He looked up from the bowl at his bodyguard Trey with his eyebrows raised. “Well?”

“A car load of stick up boys hit the collection car. We capped one of them, but three of them got away.”

Sampson did a rough calculation. Even if it had been a slow night that car would be loaded with over forty thousand dollars.

“They get away with the money?” he asked after taking his first spoonful of Fruity Pebbles.

“Nah… but it got weird.”

“What do you mean?”

Trey pulled a phone out of his pocket. Sampson did not own or talk on the phone as a matter of routine. Trey took that risk. All calls and texts ran through him. He pulled up a text chain. Sampson saw someone had sent a video. Trey pressed play and put it on the table in front of Sampson.

“Oh, fuck,” Sampson said as he watched. “Yeah… we got a big fucking problem.”

---

One Hour Earlier

Charlie Chinwe peaked over the hood of the car for any potential shooters. Instead he saw a blur of motion rush by him towards the wrecked Yukon that held Sampson’s soldiers and a lot of cash. Charlie heard the burst of automatic fire followed by the sound of ripping metal. There was a scream and a loud thump. Another burst of gunfire and broken glass. And… silence.

Charlie looked at O and TT who were also hunkered behind the car. Somewhere far off was a police siren. That wasn’t good news at all. They had to get out of there as fast as possible. Charlie heard movement on the other side of the car, followed by an impact on the car’s roof. The three stick-up boys looked up and saw him squatting on top of the car.



“Run,” said the Black Panther. “One of the men took a video of me and sent it to someone before I could incapacitate him. They will be sending reinforcements on top of the police. Run.”

The three young men stared up at him, too shocked to speak or even move.

“I said, RUN!”

He popped the vibranium claws in his gloves as he yelled. That did it. Charlie turned and ran as fast as he could down the street. He didn’t see where O or TT went, but he didn’t give a damn at this moment. He wanted to be as far away from guns, drugs, cops, and the goddamn Black Panther as possible.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

While I work on Black Panther post #3 I'll go ahead and drop this:

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

D A R E D E V I L

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^{_{M A T T H E W M U R D O C K ♦ L A W Y E R ♦ H E L L ' S K I T C H E N ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Ain't nobody born bad, it takes a whole lotta hurt.
Therein lies one of life's biggest lessons: ain't got nothin' to do with deserve.
Just pray to the Saint of Lost Causes."}

Matt Murdock is a "bad guy." A slightly twisted life has turned our blind lawyer into one of the city's best mob lawyers and a reviled figure in the criminal justice community of New York. Then at night, he becomes the Devil. The Devil is feared in the underworld as a violent criminal who is slowly climbing the ladder to become the city's kingpin.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Supporting Characters:

Karen Paige - Secretary and legal aid
Franklin "Foggy" Nelson - Assistant US Attorney
Dakota North - Investigator, driver, bodyguard
Wilson Fisk - Kingpin
Silvermane - Crime lord and client
Arthur Blackwood - Outlaw biker and racist

Potential Arcs:

Casus Belli - A shaky alliance between the mob and the Crusaders MC is in tatters after a drug deal gone bad ends with dead men on both sides and a missing briefcase with a million dollars in it. While Matt Murdock tires to prevent a gang war between his clients, Daredevil tears up the city in search of the perpetrators of the attack and the missing money.

Hostis Humani Generis - A vigilante has come to the city, reigning down death and destruction to those in need of punishment. Among the killers targets is Matt Murdock, the city's number one criminal lawyer.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Sample

Manhattan Criminal Courthouse
Part 21
Lower Manhattan
11:21 AM

"Mr. Murdock, do you plan on a lengthy cross-examination of the witness?"

"No, Your Honor," I said as I stood. "I'll be brief."

I couldn't see it, but I could hear the muscles in Judge Sandra Young's face form into a smile. Noon was fast approaching and Judge Young likes her smoke breaks. I was honestly surprised that she had allowed the current session to run now for over three hours without breaking.

"You may proceed," she said.

I made my way from the defense table, passing by Assistant DA Blake Tower on my way towards the lectern facing the witness box and the jury. I heard Tower's right eyelid flip in a wink at me, a force of habit I assume. His gait was that of a man who was confident on the point of cocky. And who wouldn't be cocky after the testimony he had just withdrawn from his witness?

With Tower holding his hand, Detective Sergeant Michael Tork had just delivered an hour's worth of testimony that guided the jury through his investigation. Working out of the NYPD's 33rd Precinct, Tork and his four-man narcotics unit conducted a two month investigation into the suspected drug dealing activities of one Jesus Reuben Martinez, resident of Washington Heights and a known member of the Puerto Rican Army.

Jesus sat at the defense table, looking on while his heart raced a mile a minute. I could probably have smelled the sweat beading on his forehead from outside the court room it was so pungent. He had every reason to be worried. Tork's testimony was solid. He had explained in that clear and clipped cop-speak that his unit had observed Martinez in and around the Wilson Terrace Housing Projects where he lived, but they could never get concrete proof that he was dealing. He was careful on the street, conducting his business in the housing project where the cops couldn't go without arousing suspicion. Martinez would take the train somewhere downtown, but they always lost him in the shuffle of the commute. Close to packing up the case, they turned instead to the eye in the sky.

Jesus Mendez had the honor to be among the first targets of the NYPD's new drone surveillance program. The drone in question caught Jesus taking a re-up from a supplier and then meeting with the dealers who worked for him to move his product. Jesus had eluded police ground surveillance thanks to his keen observations. But he hadn't thought to look up into the sky.

"Thank you for taking the time to be here, Sergeant Tork," I said a I prepared for the cross.

"You're welcome," Tork said tightly.

A genuine hater. I figured the cop for one of those right off the bat. Now my suspicions were confirmed by the stand-offish answer and the increase in his pulse. A lot of cops make no effort to hide their contempt for defense attorneys. Instead of seeing what we do as a necessary check on the system, they instead see us as quasi-criminals who are just a few steps above the scumbag clients were represent. Not that he would be completely wrong in that assessment. But if he didn't hate defense lawyers now, he sure as hell was about to hate them after I was through with him.

"Sergeant Tork," I said with little to no delay. "Who operated the drone that took the surveillance photos of Mr. Martinez?"

"Officer Pierce," said Tork.

"And he's a member of your narcotics unit?"

"Yes, he is."

"I've been told that the photos you took are of good quality." I turned towards the jury with a half smirk. "I wouldn't know for myself."

I've found that self-deprecating humor can go a long way to disarm juries. Especially given my reputation over the years, playing up my blindness offsets my other less desirable qualities.

"They can clearly make out your client dealing drugs," Tork replied.

"Move to strike that from the record," I asked the judge. "It's inflammatory."

"So noted," said Judge Young. She looked down at Tork from her perch. "And I would remind Sergeant Tork to stick to simpler answers."

"Sergeant Tork, did you write the warrant that led to the use of the drone on my client?"

"No," said Tork. "We didn't have to write a warrant."

I smirked and squared my glasses up. Tork's heartbeat was steady, but starting to rise. He was telling the truth -- a refreshing departure from a lot of cops on the stand -- but he was beginning to get nervous. He knew something was up. With this cross, I was setting the fuse on the bomb that would destroy the prosecution's case.

"Drones and the use of them are relatively new in law enforcement, Sergeant. Are you up to date with all the rules and regulations?"

"I know how to do my job if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, so you know about the rules on surveillance distance with drones? They're much more restrictive with them than they are with planes and helicopters. If you're less than a thousand feet away from the target, you need a warrant. Anything without a warrant is considered an illegal search."

I held up the photographs, making sure they were the right side up and facing Tork.

"From how far would you say these photos were taken, Sergeant Tork?"

Now Tork's heart was racing. I could smell the sweat on him. Along with his change, I heard Tower groan under his breath from the prosecution table and Juror #4 laugh under his breath.

"I'm not an expert on distances," he said defensively.

"No, you're not," I said with a nod. "I'll have one of those come up when the defense presents. No more questions for Sergeant Tork, your honor."

And just like that, the seeds of acquittal have been sewn. Is Jesus Martinez guilty? Of course. The photos prove that. But they weren't obtained legally. That, more than anything, is my job. I have to make sure the cops play fair. I have to test the state's evidence and make sure it holds up. I am a necessary part of the threshing maw that is the American criminal justice system. I poke and prod and pull threads. Better that a guilty man go free on a technicality than an innocent man be convicted on faulty evidence.

At least, that's what I tell myself to make it through the day.

At night I cope a different way.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Master Bruce>

That was my Superman concept I applied for in your DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All RP. It wasn't chosen lol.

@Retired

Maybe it wasn't the concept.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Sep>
My father was/is a police prosecutor

@Hound55

That explains a lot

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

@Hillan You don't remember my incredible run with Bart Allan as Impulse? It lasted all of two posts! For shame, Hillan. I thought you were better than that.

@Retired

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Maybe something X-related, I'll keep an eye on it and try to decide soon.

@Ruby

Jean Grey or...

...

Jean Grey?